


Oliphaunts are Not Purple

by Spiderlass



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Baby Frodo, Bilbo doesn't know HOW he got saddled with a baby hobbit, But hell if he's gonna let anyone take Frodo away from him now, Everyone Survives the Battle of The Five Armies, Falling In Love, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Thorin does not know how to interact with babies, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:08:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2103828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiderlass/pseuds/Spiderlass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo just wanted to get his things out of Bag End before he returned to the Lonely Mountain. He isn't quite sure how he ended up becoming a baby's caretaker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oliphaunts are Not Purple

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I try to deny BoTFA. Fluff happens. Fluff involving tiny hobbits happens.

Bilbo had always loved the Shire in the Springtime, when the flowers were just beginning to bloom and the weather hadn’t become unbearably hot and dry. It was nice and warm, with only the occasional rainstorm that would help along the growth of the plants.

It was always his favorite time of year, and that made it that much sweeter that he was returning to his home just as it was beginning.

Though it seemed like only yesterday that thirteen batty dwarves and a far too amused wizard crashed into both his home and his life, it had been nearly an entire year since Bilbo had ran off to help slay a dragon and reclaim a mountain. He’d been nearly eaten by trolls, orcs, and that one thing he’d stolen his magic ring from, he’d killed a giant spider, he’d nearly drowned while trying to escape elves and, much to his dismay, orcs, and then he’d nearly _been roasted alive by an angry dragon_.

Not to mention the great battle that had nearly killed _all_ of them, although Bilbo considered himself quite lucky as to have escaped with little more than some bruises and cuts... and a minor concussion, but that was still _nothing_ compared to the injuries suffered by some of the Company. Some, like Bilbo, were lucky- Ori now had a rather nasty scar running up his left forearm, Bombur sprained his ankle, Bofur had a concussion, Nori and Dori both had dislocated shoulders- while some weren’t- Gloin’s nose was broken, Bifur broke his arm, Balin had cracked ribs, Oin lost part of his ear (which really didn’t make much of a difference, but still)- and some had even worse luck still- Dwalin lost an eye, Fili had a major concussion and was in a coma for three days, and poor Kili had nerve damage that gave him a tremor in his right hand, severely limiting his ability to use any sort of weapon- and there were enough lost teeth between them as to fill the mouth of a grown Man.

And then there was Thorin, who had barely survived the battle at all. By the time that he had been found by an elven healer (something no one told him for fear he might just die from anger or shame), the King Under the Mountain had been close to death, bleeding profusely and horribly pale, only able to breath shallowly.

“If... if more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold... it would be a merrier world...” Thorin had whispered, never letting his weak grip on Bilbo’s hand slip until the last word had escaped his lips and he fell into a death-like sleep. For three horrible weeks after that, the dwarf king had slipped in and out of consciousness, feverish and deathly pale all the while. Bilbo had stayed by his side the entire time, waiting and praying to every deity he could think of to let Thorin live, even after everything that had transpired between them, everything that had been said, everything that they had done to one another. Occassionally, Thorin would speak, but Bilbo understood very little, as most of the king’s semi-conscious words were in a tongue that Bilbo didn’t know, though apparently both Fili and Kili did, if the spluttering and wide-eyed gasps were anything to go by.

He hadn’t had much time to think of that, though; in the second week of Thorin’s recovery, one of the wounds on his left forearm became infected, causing Thorin’s condition to worsen. His fever spiked as the disease spread, the infection causing the skin to turn a sickly green. In the end, Thorin had to be physically restrained, crying and screaming in agony as the infected limb was amputated. Bilbo had nearly been ill when he saw the amount of blood splattered on the floor and table, the well-wrapped stump just below Thorin’s elbow, but it was soon all but forgotten when the fever at last broke a day or two later and the dwarf king finally awoke for good. Bilbo had wept with joy, wrapping his arms around Thorin’s shoulders and sobbing into his chest. Thorin, thankfully, was kind enough to put off asking just where in Mahal’s name his arm was until Bilbo had calmed down a bit.

The arm wasn’t the end of it, unfortunately. His left knee had been shattered, making it impossible for the dwarf king to walk without some sort of support, which was at first Dwalin, and then a cane, and even then it was still quite obviously excruciatingly painful for him to walk, though of course he refused to admit that he was hurt.

Still, once a false hand was attached and Thorin became used to walking with a cane, the reconstruction of Erebor began to move a bit quicker- right after Thorin hid the Arkenstone away deep in the mountain and gave the necessary gold for Dale to be rebuilt. The cold of Winter did slow them down a bit, but soon enough it was moving along like clockwork, and by the end of the Winter it was halfway done.

It was at that point that Bilbo could no longer put off a certain problem- specifically, the problem of Bilbo’s home in the Shire.

“I want to stay, I do, really!” He had quickly reassured them (mostly to Fili, Kili, and- though of course he would never admit it- Thorin). “But I can’t just abandon Bag End- it’s been my home all my life! I have to at least try to get my things back!”

Luckily for him, he’d managed to convince them (it hadn’t been too hard, honestly, just a bit tiresome) to let him go back.

On one rather irritating condition.

Which was why he was now looking over the Shire, with thirteen dwarves in tow.

He couldn’t wait to see the look on one Lobelia Sackville-Baggins’ face.

Especially since she had seen fit to auction off his things.

\---------------------------------

“No.”

“Pllleeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaassssseeee?” Fili and Kili begged for the umpteenth time that day, their eyes wide and pleading.

Bilbo rolled his eyes, getting quite annoyed with the two youngest members of the Company. “Really, you two, I’ve already got both Dwalin and Thorin to scare Lobelia and her husband off if the need arises-!”

“You said she can kill a Man with just her voice!”

“... You know, I _may_ have been exaggerating when I said that.”

Thorin rolled his eyes, taking a step towards his overly-protective nephews. “We’ll be fine, boys. Really, I’m a bit insulted that you think your old Uncle can’t handle a couple of small, thoroughly unpleasant-sounding hobbits.”

“Uncle,” Fili started slowly, “You only have one hand and walk with a limp. Besides that, have you forgotten that you got lost _twice_ on the way to Bag End last time? If we let you go, we may never see you again!”

“First of all, I have two hands, one is just made of metal, and even with a limp, I can keep up with you two. And I think that I’ll just ignore that comment about my sense of direction, although I _will_ point out that you and your brother _both_ managed to get lost in the market for about two hours. Now, please, just stay at the inn and try not to insult anyone. I would rather not have to explain to your mother why you were clobbered by beardless farmers and shoeless lasses wielding frying pans.”

Kili groaned. “But Uncle, it’s _so_ boring here!”

“Well, here’s an idea: why don’t you think up a way to tell your mother that you’re courting an elf? We’ll be passing through the Blue Mountains on the way home, after all, and I’m fairly sure that she’d like to know that.”

His younger nephew turned a very interesting shade of scarlet.  “Wh- Y-You- Tauriel- _how did you know_?!”

“Well, for one thing, I’m not blind.” Thorin said before turning to Dwalin. “No offense, Dwalin.”

“I’m not _blind_ , you idiot, I just have one eye. And besides that, I knew as well. Couldn’t think of any other reason a girl like that would follow ya from Mirkwood.”

Slowly, the rest of the company started to murmur about how they had all pretty much figured out about Tauriel as well, mostly because they could hear the two flirting back in the dungeons of Mirkwood.

The former archer looked like he was drowning on dry land. “I- You- b-but-!”

Fili sighed, clapping his little brother on the back, though he was grinning like a fox who had just caught the fattest chicken in the henhouse.

“Give it up, brother. If it helps, I’ve already started planning your bachelor party.”

“Wh- THAT DOES NOT HELP AT ALL.”

\------------------------------

Bilbo sighed contentedly as Bag End came into view, the green door filling him with happiness.

“Can’t tell you how many times I thought I would never see this place again.” The hobbit said quietly, glancing behind him to make sure that they hadn’t lost track of Thorin.

“Nor did I.” The dwarf king said with a low chuckle, his limp barely noticeable with the support of the cane.

“Well, with you, I wouldn’t have been surprised if _you_ never saw this place again, Mr. Got-Lost-Twice.” Bilbo teased lightly.

Once upon a time (about one year ago, to be precise), the dwarf king probably would have tried to have his head, but now he just chuckled.

“Big talk coming from the hobbit who forced thirteen dwarves into barrels before realizing there wasn’t one for him.”

Dwalin rolled his eye as he opened the gate for them. “As amusing as it is to watch you two flirt, could we perhaps try to keep a bit of a professional attitude about this? Y’know, just until we get rid of the harpy and her helper monkey?”

This, of course, only served to make the two become even less professional, both loudly denying that they were doing anything even close to flirting as they walked up to the green door of Bilbo’s home.

A sharp, high-pitched cry interrupted their rants, though, causing all of them to fall silent just before Bilbo could knock on the door.

“... Please tell me I’m not the only one who heard that.” Thorin muttered quietly, his eyes wide as he looked around the front of Bilbo’s house.

“Bilbo?” Dwalin started quietly. “You sure that your cousin doesn’t have any children?”

“For the sake of future generations, I hope that she doesn’t.” Bilbo mumbled as he knocked on the door, praying to Yavanna, Aule, and whoever the hell else there was that there wasn’t a tiny Lobelia or Otho to terrorize everyone.

There was silence for a moment before Lobelia shouted inside, followed by crashing and another high-pitched cry, this one more like a sob than the last.

“L... Lobelia?” Bilbo finally called, fearing that his worst nightmare had finally come true. “Lobelia, what in the name of all that’s green is-?!”

Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing a rather bedraggled-looking Lobelia.

“Why, Bilbo! I wasn’t expecting you!” She greeted with a forced cheerfulness, the grin on her face as fake as Thorin’s left forearm.

“Yes, I gathered that from the sign announcing the auction of my belongings.”

The woman went pale as a sheet. “A-Ah, well, that- Y-You know, Otho, he, well, I _tried_ , you know, to stop him, but he _insisted_ that there was no way that you were still alive-!”

“Of course he did, dear cousin.” The hobbit said with a voice as sweet as honey. “But you know, I think, since I’m still here and not at all dead, that perhaps you and your husband should be on your merry way.”

Lobelia forced a laugh. “O-Of course, dear, of course! Otho- Otho’s just gathering up some things, and then we’ll certainly-!”

There was a sudden crash coming from the kitchen, causing the female hobbit to flinch and glance over her shoulder furtively.

“Shit!” Bilbo heard her hiss under her breath.

“Everything alright in there?”

Lobelia quickly looked back at him, the smile becoming even more forced than before. “O-Oh, no, it’s- it’s all fine, probably just the wind!”

“Ah.” Bilbo looked back at Dwalin, a tight smile on his face. “Dwalin? Could you perhaps go, ah, check on the wind?”

“Shall I make sure the wind doesn’t make off with anything?” Dwalin replied, amusement twinkling in his eye.

“If you would be so kind, yes.”

The one-eyed dwarf grinned as he walked towards the door, both Thorin and Bilbo getting out of the way, though Lobelia still hovered in the doorway.

“A-Ah, th-that won’t be necessary-!”

“Don’t worry, ma’am.” Dwalin reassured her with a voice full of false sweetness. “I’ll be quite _gentle_ with the, ah, _wind_.”

That seemed to intimidate the woman enough to force her to move out of the doorway, just enough for the large dwarf to move inside. As Dwalin strolled towards the kitchen, there was another, even louder cry.

“Okay, seriously, what in Yavanna’s name is that?”

“Uh... well-?!”

There was a sudden shout, followed by quite a lot of cursing that became louder and louder as Dwalin came back into view, holding one Otho Sackville-Baggins by the seat of his pants with one hand and supporting the box that held Belladonna Baggins’ finest silver under his arm with the other.

“Look who I caught attempting to escape through the kitchen window!” Dwalin said cheerfully as he held up Otho, clearly enjoying this entire situation far more than he really should. Otho whimpered pitifully, looking equal parts ashamed and terrified.

“Thank you, Dwalin.” Bilbo said before looking at his cousin and giving a curt nod. “Hullo, Otho.”

“B... Bilbo. You’re looking well.” The other hobbit greeted, clearly trying to save face.

“And you’re looking like you were about to make off with my mother’s silver.”

Otho turned pale, swallowing hard. “L... Look, I know that this looks bad-!”

“A little more than ‘looks’, I think.” Thorin commented, coming into the view of Otho for the first time. “In fact, I think it was about to be a robbery. Unfortunately, it seems a talent for burglary doesn’t run in the family.”

Lobelia’s eyes widened in shock. “S... So it’s true, then! I always knew there was something off about you! Not respectable at all!”

Bilbo froze, his face suddenly turning stony. “Perhaps not. But you see, dear Lobelia, the thing that makes me not respectable in your eyes helped a king reclaim his kingdom, something that I believe makes me quite respectable, as do a rather large amount of dwarves, elves, and Men. Whereas the thing that makes you not respectable in my eyes has led to your husband being held up by the seat of his pants by a large, one-eyed dwarf.” He replied, smiling coldly. “Something I don’t think anyone could find respectable.”

Lobelia spluttered angrily, her face turning as red as Hamfast’s tomatoes.

“Um... while we’re on the subject, could you perhaps put me down?” Otho asked quietly.

“Hm, I don’t know. Thorin, could you remind me what the punishment is for convicted thieves back in Erebor?”

“Well, back when my grandfather ruled, the thief would have his fingers cut off.”

Both Otho and Lobelia gasped, looking completely horrified at the punishment.

“Hm, no, I don’t really feel like cleaning up bloodstains. Ah, well. Dwalin, drop him.”

With a grin, the larger dwarf did just that, Otho yelping as he unceremoniously fell flat on his face. The hobbit groaned in pain, slowly getting up and covering his nose.

“I tink you broke my node!” He complained as he stood up, Lobelia glaring at Bilbo.

“Hmph! I’m sure everyone will just love to hear about this!”

“Oh, dear, darling Lobelia,” Bilbo said with a sigh, “It’s adorable how you think that I care what anyone of them thinks of me. I’ve faced so much worse than anything they could throw at me.”

With that, he moved out of the way, gesturing out vaguely at the Shire.

“Now, would you kindly get out of my house?”

Lobelia grimaced at him as Otho scurried past her. “Fine, then! And you can keep that wretched little _brat_ , too! I’m sure no one would be surprised if I were to tell them that _Mad Baggins_ took him!”

Before Bilbo could ask her just what in the hell she meant by that, Lobelia chased her husband down the path, running past the gates of Bag End and disappearing.

“... You weren’t kidding. She is a thoroughly unpleasant woman.” Thorin mused as Bilbo walked inside his house.

The hobbit, however, wasn’t listening. “What in the name of all that’s green do you think that she meant by ‘wretched little brat’-?!”

Suddenly, there was another cry, louder and longer than before.

“There’s that noise again.” Dwalin commented, looking around. “I thought it was the man before but...”

“No, I don’t think Otho’s capable of a sound like that, although I do admit that it would be hilarious if he could make one.” Bilbo mused, moving towards where the sound was coming from, which just so happened to be one of Bag End’s many bedrooms, listening carefully for the noise.

When he found where the cries were the loudest, he slowly opened the door, peering inside. The room looked just the same as when he had left it, save for one key difference.

“The hell...?” He murmured as he stared at the old brown cradle shoved up against the Western wall, a thin, pale blue blanket that he vaguely remembered having as a child draped over it. Suddenly, the cradle rocked, another, distinctly angrier cry coming out of it.

Something was in the cradle.

Slowly, Bilbo crept over to the crib, cautiously grabbing the blanket and pulling it off. He sucked in a deep, involuntary breath, his eyes going wide when he saw the crib’s inhabitant.

The baby was tiny, with just the barest beginnings of dark curls starting to grow. They had big, blue eyes filled with tears, a round, rosy-cheeked face, and the same Baggins nose that Bilbo had. The baby stared up at Bilbo, tilting their head in confusion for a moment before giggling and reaching for him, kicking their legs impatiently.

“O-Oh, um, sorry...” Bilbo apologized, somewhat aware of how dazed he sounded. Quickly, he picked the child up, careful to support their head. The baby latched onto him, resting their head on his shoulder.

“Hello, there, little one.” The hobbit said softly, raising the hand that wasn’t supporting the baby to brush a wayward curl out of their eyes. The baby caught it, wrapping a tiny hand around Bilbo’s ring finger.

“Just where did you come from, love?”

The baby, of course, didn’t have an answer for him.

****  
  



End file.
